Tau

Chapter 1





See him. Note his divine posture. His gaze lies anchored beyond the breakers; his mind runs mobile and active. See his face rigid, his hands clenched--the Tau Cross set into his forehead pulses scarlet photons in slow rhythmic heat. He is filled with purpose, for it is his dharma to create, to do, to achieve. His is the power and the glory—forever and ever and ever.

He is, as matters would have it, a God. He will raise the dead, decimate the living, as it pleases him in his whims.

His thoughts rage--his presence becomes irresistible. His temperament is said, by the handful of those who know and speak of it, to be overridden by incessant anger. Directed toward what, none will declare.

Watch further. See him now, tensing ever more--the talisman he wears speeds its throbbing. On his neck, silhouetted cords of muscle appear. His chest takes on the appearance of a steel drum. His power radiates ever outward, his wrath infects the water, roiling and beating upon the shore. His perch on the cliff begins to appear unstable.

This one has a will to create, yet he is unsurpassed in the art of destruction.

He has been defeated in combat once only.

A blast occurs, with the ferocity of a volcano, but the effect is contained somehow; a portion of the cliff top has become swirling dust. And see--within the withering embrace of that dust cloud, two figures now stand, unharmed and surprisingly active.

Listen, now, and be not unafraid, for our discovery would surely mean death.

"What news, lackey?" The God, T'kishnu, demands.

"I have seen them, Lord, preparing for war. They will resist you." The newcomer, a faintly human figure with the head of a goat, spindly and nervous, speaks to his master's feet. "I was unable to discover the manner in which they were alerted to the incipient hostilities you have prepared for them."

"There is a traitor among the soldiery, simpleton!" T'kishnu roars.

His face swiftly brightening, Eyegore forgets himself. "Who is the base coward, master? I will eat him for you--"

"If I knew that, you moronic simpleton, I'd not be standing here wasting my time with you!" The divine one scowls, raising the back of his hand on high.

Eyegore feels a hernia erupt in his groin from the intensity of his cowering. A lightning bolt ruptures the ground nearby. "Noble forebear, please--I am your servant always, and it is only my enthusiastic desire to further your causes which prompts me to speak when my poor feeble mind has not yet plodded through the steps necessary to achieve insight. What is it you would have me do?" Following a sufficiently humble--that is to say, sycophantic, pause--the God's servant cautiously peers upward and, finding apparent forbearance written on his master's countenance, continues in a most hopeful tone. "Your stratagems are brilliant, lord—I am forever in awe of your superior tactics."

T'kishnu scowls at his anorexic underling.

A seagull lands on the cliffside nearby, sounding its own death knells.

"You are worth little to me dead, cretin, else I would suffer your incompetence no more. So long as you breathe, I retain hope that one day you will, perchance, accidentally perform some service of value to me." The misshapen creature at his feet nods furiously. "Until then, I refuse to be placed in the vulnerable position relying on your idiocy would force upon me. We will go now, to see how matters fare with my allies. Drowgar will be very upset with you, I am sure. . ."

Watch now, as the Tau Cross comes to life once more, throbbing and swelling, while the God raises up his arms to clutch at the lightning bolts striking the ground just outside of his reach. Eyegore puts both hands over his head, and rolls himself up in a ball--a gesture of eminent sensibility, in light of the escalating violence which proceeds.

Lest we too be caught up in T'kishnu's rising frustration, a hasty retreat is in order.

Exeunt.



Chapter 2

An obscure poet once wrote that the streets of Aldamar, ". . . like snowflakes in the sand, offer no clue nor hope within the breast of man." Having once run them as a youth, Roderick found it easy to understand the sentiments of the unknown bard. There is a flavor here, he thought, to be found in no other city in the Kingdoms. And while he himself would concede a certain bias, it was well and widely known that Aldamar offers pleasures and services found nowhere else in the Five Realms.

More's the pity.

A sense of joy abruptly insinuated itself into Roderick's mercenary heart, giving rise to a nonsensical tune whistled at the top of his lips. At this, the slight, cowled figure of his companion frowned and made a hissing noise until he subsided.

For the hundredth time, Roderick wondered about the presence of Katya, wondered why she had been sent to accompany him on his reconnaissance. When Baldemar hired him for this mission, he himself had been only too willing, as he had reasons of his own for wishing to cause T'kishnu all the trouble he could. But this woman, silent and menacing--both in presence and in practice--what were her own motives in all of this? She seemed so much more than just another of Baldemar's hired ‘assistants’.

Just then, his attention was caught by a passing street juggler. They were proceeding down Carnival Boulevard, and all around them musicians and sharks and performers and hustlers were going through the daily rituals which gave them food to eat and a roof over their heads. This particular artiste reminded Roderick of someone he knew here. He called out, but when the gaily bedecked man turned his face, Roderick saw that it was not the friend he had once known.

For his frivolity, Katya jabbed him sharply in the side with an elbow.

He glared at her, unaccustomed to such abuse, but then restrained himself. Though confident of his own violent abilities, Roderick had no wish to provoke Katya. He had seen what she was capable of when aroused to anger; the four churlish louts who had accosted them outside of town would still be smarting, he imagined. And he had had very little to do with that.

At the next intersection, where Wayfarer Avenue crossed their path, Roderick grabbed his companion's arm, perhaps a bit more firmly than necessary, and steered her to the left. This led the pair away from the bustle of the Boulevard to a row of taverns and hotels. The fourth doorway they passed had a sign above it which declared they had arrived at The Galloping Ghost. Through this door they passed, into the dim, smoky interior of the tavern.

Behind the bar was a barrel-chested man wearing a smudged apron and talking earnestly with a customer to whom he had just presented a beer. His eyes strayed, landed on the newcomers, and hesitated there for a few seconds before returning to his patron. At this early hour, only a few dedicated regulars were present; none of them seemed to take notice of the newcomers at all.

Roderick approached the bar, Katya a few paces behind him.

"Have you any Trystan wine, barkeep? I've traveled long this fine morning--my palate is parched, and craves something smooth and regal to soothe it."

The man drinking his beer turned and looked at Roderick, then at Katya, taking in the bright and expensive apparel of the first and the nondescript hooded cape of the second, and immediately pegged the pair for a newly arrived merchant and his concubine.

The big man behind the bar, putting one hand to the great, shaggy beard which petered out somewhere around his navel, spoke slowly, in measured tones.

"We have no such rare vintages, here, my friend," he said, a trace of contempt in his voice. "The best I might offer ye' along those lines would be a glass of pressed grapes from the Valley of Aporthos, in O-Milrahar, where, I have heard, the alcoholics generally favor beer over wine." So saying, the bartender reached beneath the chipped and peeling bar top and pulled the cork out of a dark brown glass jug, swirled the contents once, and then poured two glasses full of a cloudy, red wine.

Proffering the alcohol, the barrel-chested man then stepped back and eyed his customers expectantly.

Roderick lifted the glass to his nose, inhaled, and set the glass back down. Katya did not even touch hers. "While I do try to take into account," Roderick sniffed, "the provincial tastes of those I meet in my mercantile travels across the Five Kingdoms, I am occasionally confronted by sods such as yourself who know no better than to offer an effrontery such as this." He shook his head woefully. "Come along, my dear--perhaps the cognoscenti at the Hoary Hag a few doors down will be able to find something more deserving of the name wine."

The man behind the bar scowled as Roderick began to speak. By the time he had finished, a veritable storm had gathered upon the big man's face, and his voice was much louder and not just a bit agitated.

"I was polite and I warned ye' mister. Ye' needn't rub my nose in it. And ye' needn't find yourselves libation in my tavern." The angry proprietor lumbered out from behind his bar. "I manage to wet a common man's whistle here from time to time without any complaints from anyone, ye' know, and if that won't suit ye', then I'm thinkin' ye'd best be on your way."

Roderick turned to face the tavernkeep, a contentious sneer on his lips. "I'll be on my way, buffoon, when I am good and ready to depart." Katya stepped quietly to his side. "Because you find yourself in a position where you must be ashamed of your own establishment, why then, don't put the blame on me, I beg you."

"Not another word, mister! Get out! Now!"

"If not?"

With a bestial roar, the big man charged straight at the merchant and his woman, who waited calmly until the last moment, and then leaped--up and over her opponent, chopping down at the exposed backside of his neck with fingers extended, while Roderick dropped to one side and lashed out with a boot toe at the man's groin.

With a moan, followed quickly by a pained squeak, the enraged attacker collapsed to the floor, where he lay wheezing and rolling about with both hands clutched to his crotch. A slow moment later, Roderick bent over the poor fellow, and that was a mistake. The meaty heel of the downed man's right hand shot from out of nowhere into Roderick's chin, sending him reeling backwards, where he crashed into Katya. They went down in a tangle.

Another war cry, nearly as hearty as the first, and the insulted tavernkeep dove through the air and landed with a satisfying thud upon his prone adversaries. For just a moment, during which both parties strained and wheezed, the big man whispered into Roderick's ear, "There is a door in the alleyway out back. In ten minutes it will be unlocked."

Roderick's quick nod was barely perceptible. He whispered back, "You've been eating well, Finn." He strained, pushed, and suddenly rolled free, while Katya, buried under both men, grunted as the newly freed weight of the one on top fell full upon her.

Roderick leaped up, grabbed the ursine man by the back of his collar, and heaved. Slowly, even as he and Katya continued to pound away at one another, the man was lifted to his feet. Then Roderick reached into his boot, swiftly pulled out a silver dagger, and used the pommel to knock the tavernkeep on the back of his woolly head. He crumpled like a sack of Trystan grain.

At a nearby table, two men who’d been watching the proceedings released pent-up oaths, and rose to their feet. The other patrons followed suit.

A disheveled Katya drew a gleaming sword from under her cloak while Roderick reversed his dagger, allowing the point to weave back and forth in the air like a restive cobra. The pair backed quickly toward the door, leaving behind them a frustrated but aimless tension.

Once outside, the two sheathed their weapons and moved at a dignified but hurried pace to the alley which gave into the street; there it was crowded and no one followed after them.

The doorway they sought was half covered up by empty boxes and refuse. Looking around to be sure no one was watching, the travelling merchant and his companion cleared a way through the trash, opened the unlocked door, and slipped inside.

It was quite dark, and the pair stood just inside for a moment while their eyes adjusted to the gloom. They found themselves in a short corridor, at the end of which was another door, this one of iron, looking much sturdier than the wooden one they had just come through. Trying the knob, Roderick found it locked. He looked inquiringly at Katya, who shrugged. Pulling his dagger once again, he made as if to use its haft to knock--when the door swung open and there stood their erstwhile wrestling partner, grinning and wiping his face with a cloth.

Without preamble, he exclaimed, "Roderick, you've been toughened in your travels, I’m thinking. You'd've never taken me like that a few years ago." Following Roderick's gaze down to his own well-formed paunch, he chuckled, "'Course, I've changed a bit m’self, eh? It's the ale--I've been able to find no good reason to give it up."

An uncharacteristic smile passed fleetingly across Katya's lips. "I would have been surprised," Roderick said, "to find things otherwise." He stepped forward, and the two men fondly embraced.

Turning then to his companion, Roderick spoke respectfully. "This is my partner in crime, Finn, sent by the inestimable Baldemar to accompany me. Katya--this is Finn, known to his friends as The Bear." With a wink, he added, "Because of his disposition, of course, and not his physique."

Katya threw back the hood of her grey and dirty cloak with one hand, while offering the other to The Bear; a wealth of honey-golden hair was released to fall and frame her stern and beautiful face, which softened for just a moment into a polite smile and then returned to its reserved and self-contained mien. In the space of that brief moment, the two men were struck with a fleeting impression of unearthly radiance, as might be expected on a black night when the window shade is lifted to allow ingress to the light of the full moon. Roderick thought to himself that it was a good thing—given their desire to remain unnoticed—she had been wearing a cloak and employing its hood.

"Now then, my friend," began Finn, "would you care for a comfortable seat and some of that fine Trystan wine you so snootily requested from me at the bar?" He grinned and held out an elbow for Katya's sake, as though to prove himself completely unrelated to the lout who had served them in the bar.

Roderick hid a smile at the familiar old behavior.

The room into which The Bear had let them was divided by a curtain of beads, which reformed as they passed through to reveal a lecherous painting of a wood nymph and her victim. On the other side of the curtain lay Finn's personal quarters; while he busied himself with fetching a bottle and two glasses the two wayfarers took the opportunity to sit down and relax for the first time in several days. Looking around him, Roderick noted that his friend's personal tastes had not changed in the two years since last he had seen him. A large bed with a bearskin throw upon it sat huddled in one corner of the room. Several masterful paintings echoing the theme of the beaded curtain hung on the walls, oddly juxtaposed with an impressive antique suit of armor which stood in the corner opposite. The Bear, Roderick remembered fondly, had a taste for the obscure and the exotic--be it animal, vegetable, or mineral.

Katya, too, occupied herself with a frank perusal of her surroundings, having already heard from Roderick a good bit about this man with whom they were to rendezvous, and seeking, now, to determine if what had been said was true.

She decided that most of it was.

The Bear turned from the liquor cabinet and presented each of his guests--for guests they had now become--with a glass of finest Trystan claret. He sat down heavily, and grinned, first at Roderick, then at Katya. He said to the former, "You are still ugly, my friend, and you have not grown up yet, far as I can tell." A somber look lay upon his face as he lifted his glass in salute.

Likewise, Roderick raised his own fluted goblet and spoke gravely. "To my fat friend--long may his foul presence impinge upon the awareness of better men." The two touched their fine glassware, and tossed off the liquor within; to her credit, Katya barely reacted as the two then hurled their empties directly and with great force at one another's heads.

Roderick was the quicker of the two, though not by much--his own glass just grazed the Bear's woolly ear. Finn looked angry, then shook his head ruefully, while Roderick chuckled and bent to brush a bit of trail dust off his boots.

Leaning forward in his chair, which creaked alarmingly, the Bear became serious. "What news have you, Roderick? A potent air of secrecy is all well and fine, I agree, but I absolutely refuse to allow you to beat me and then give me nothing in return. Come--tell me what you have learned."

"A good brawl was ever your bread and butter, lug. But I do regret the necessity of such extreme measures; I am convinced T'kishnu's spies are everywhere." Reflexively, Roderick cast an appraising look around the room, then chuckled ruefully at his own paranoia. "Refresh me once more, if you would, dear Finn, and I shall regale you with the tale of a wanton, spoiled God and his dull-witted inbred servant."

Before the enormous man could move, however, Katya arose and collected the glasses of the other two and refilled them. She nearly dropped the bottle, and then fumbled about for a moment before she returned with the three goblets. She smiled demurely and sat down, ignoring the odd look Roderick cast her way.

Oblivious to anything but the woman's beauty, Finn raised his glass in toast. "To the fairest traveler it has been my privilege to serve in many a month."

"When you are done with your flattery, Finn," Roderick spoke through gritted teeth, as always growing mildly annoyed with his friend's lifelong habit of eschewing business for pleasure, "I could use some advice as to what my alternatives have become."

Refusing to rise to his friend's barb, the Bear retorted, "Your problem, Roderick, has always been your lack of gaiety."

"When it's appropriate, I can be as gay as the next fellow!"

"Ahh, but then, it's so seldom appropriate, eh what?"

"You mountainous mass of brainless muscle, will you stop playing with me and listen? I have important matters to discuss and here you sit showing off what you imagine to be your skill at repartee!" With an effort---and it had always been thus with the Bear, he thought--Roderick collected himself. "T'kishnu knows that we know, you great clod, and the time grows near when we had best have our own pawns in place. There will come a day--soon, too soon--when the westering sky will grow dark at dawn and the air itself oppressive with his coming. Having instigated these events, it is up to us to be certain that they can be countered."

Showing no sign that he had been riled by Roderick's dire summation, the Bear leaned back in his chair and began to hum. Katya watched the two men, apparently nonplussed.

Then Roderick's friend abruptly leaned forward and asked, "Your flair for the dramatic is appreciated, old partner, but not required just yet. Come--be specific now--what exactly did you learn on your little scouting jaunt?"

For no good reason he could think of, Roderick suddenly felt reluctant to continue. It was as though a dark shadow of foreboding passed over his mind, and he found himself filled with a desire to end the meeting he had so recently been anticipating. He turned toward Katya, and found her gaze locked upon him; there lay in her eyes a wordless and yet crystal clear message--of caution, and of action…

"If I could trouble you," the beautiful woman interrupted, "for another touch of this fine liquor, Finn?"

Turning a warmly grand smile upon his guest, the Bear rose and turned toward the shelf upon which the bottle sat, stumbled once, and went down in a heap on the floor. Katya quickly sheathed the dagger whose pommel she'd just used upon the Bear's woolly pate and knelt down near the prone figure. Exceedingly alarmed and very much confused, Roderick grabbed her by the arm and lifted her roughly to her feet. "What the hell is going on here, Katya?" He demanded.

With but a look, the mysterious woman caused his hand to fall from her arm. "You responded quite well to my cue a few moments back—continue to trust me now, friend, or your longtime comrade here may suffer consequences I will not be held responsible for." Reaching into the folds of her cloak, Katya removed a small, green leather pouch and untied the thong around its neck. From within she brought forth a pinch of what appeared to be common hearth ash. "Repo dust," she explained. Sprinkling a few of the gray flakes over the Bear's forehead, Katya began to massage the back of his neck, while a wordless singsong tremolo emanated from somewhere in her throat. Roderick, at a loss and feeling not a little out of his element, watched and said no more.

After a moment, the abused Bear's eyes fluttered, then opened. He sat up and looked at his two guests out of addled eyes. "What happened?" He rubbed the knot on his head with one great hairy hand.

"You will be none the worse for wear, my friend. I apologize for the rude handling, but I had no choice, as you might have struggled if I'd not taken you by surprise. You've been the victim of a possession -- by a Minor Shade, unless I miss my guess. Fear not, for I have banished it and repossessed you from its foul grip. T'kishnu grows apprehensive, perhaps; his spies will be everywhere now, and we must be on guard now more than ever before."

Roderick knelt by his friend and unstopped a jug of wine, which the big man somewhat groggily took a swig from. "She's right, Finn. The situation grows perilous. This Spirit may have been set upon you at random, or it may be that one among the enemy had suspicions of our old friendship and somehow located you to see if I might make contact. We set out to provoke T'kishnu, as Baldemar hired us to do -- we've accomplished that. Now we must disappear, vanish into thin air. He must have no idea of the course we steer--our only hope lies in the strategy of the bullfighter... make him see red, keep drawing him on."

The Finn had listened to his friend with bemusement, and now replied, somewhat belligerently. "I don't like it, Roderick. The more time we give him now, the longer he has to muster his forces. That sorcerous dog Drowgar is unpredictable, and possessed of a certain cunning. There was even a rumor flying about this morning among a few of my patrons that he has solicited the aid of foul Mcgowan and his soulless Reapers.”
"What, then, would you recommend, old chum? That we show our hand--muster our forces outright and dare T'kishnu to come mow us down? I think not, for he would not hesitate to do just that, given half the chance."

"They know that we know that they're coming. Therefore, they will change their plans, perhaps returning to their original scheme for a frontal assault.“

“It may be,” Katya spoke softly, “that they have already done just that, and even as we sit here debating, their minions are massing. Either way, we can only persevere. I have traveled with you this far, Roderick, to lend my reconnaissance skills to your mission, as Baldemar wished. Now, however, it may be time for me to do more than merely observe and report.”

Roderick thought to himself that she looked beautiful just then. And stern. He wondered for the hundredth time what this woman’s past held, to have created such a temperament in such a lovely vessel. In their journeys the past weeks, they had talked, but it had been the sort of light banter shared by traveling companions, nothing of substance had been divulged by either of them. She was taciturn, yet witty on occasion, and Roderick found her company enchanting.

“I say, don’t you think that might be wise, Roderick?” The Bear was looking at him expectantly, and not a little petulantly.

“I’m sorry, old friend, I was pondering the chances that we might soon be faced with an army of T’kishnu’s making.”

“Of course you were... that would certainly explain the silly faraway smile you wear upon your face.” The blood rose to Roderick’s cheeks before he could turn away. With a growl, he pushed by his friend and refilled his glass, slopping a bit on the floor.

“We can stand here debating all day. It will get us nowhere. Baldemar has knowledge of the Flute’s location, and though he be perhaps a somewhat inept Player—you won’t tell him I said that, will you, Katya?—he’s managed to accumulate a decent enough pool of contacts that we must take advantage of the opening he provides us with. He wishes T’kishnu provoked, and so we shall. But not without making preparation first. Katya and I shall be departing post haste for the Kingdom of Inandra, there to seek aid from the Lord Dancer. I was fortunate enough to have visited there, in more peaceful times, and I feel certain he will remember the occasion with favor, for I was the tracker in his hunting party, and we did meet with no small success.”

The Bear’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. Then a grin slowly emerged on his face, and he chuckled wryly. “Aye—aye, the Inandrans might be just the ones to join the party, if you can convince them it’s necessary, that is.” A sudden thought hit him just then. “I’m nearly certain I still have a couple of crates of fine smoked salmon from Siefey that came in a couple of months ago. I’ll give you a bit to take with you as a gift. It may help turn the Lord’s favor your way.”

Roderick cast an appraising look his way. “You’re brilliant, Finn. I don’t care what your patrons say about you—the new haircut hides the scars from the lobotomy just fine.”

With a muffled roar, the Bear leapt up and the two of them were at it again. Katya sighed, shook her head, and resigned herself to traveling with a bruised and battered companion for the next few days.